


Eyes closed, fingers spread open

by rainofgrenades



Series: Voltron Rants [8]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Sex, Badwrong, Flashbacks, M/M, Memories, Mental Breakdown, Past Abuse, Self-Destruction, Shendak, Wrong, bad way of coping, galra biology mention, sheith mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10864959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainofgrenades/pseuds/rainofgrenades
Summary: Shiro knows there's something inside his mind that should remain there.But memories do what memories want.





	Eyes closed, fingers spread open

There was a time when I looked at myself and cried.  
  
I couldn't believe what was happening to me, I couldn't believe I lost all I ever had, my life, my world. I couldn't believe it, because as much as you dream, as much as your mind wanders hoping for the most illogical and weird adventures where you're the hero and fight evil enemies, you never expect them to get real. You can't. That's not something you can bear when nightmares you never had crush you under their merciless thumb.  
  
I actually felt crushed. Shattered into pieces. And I cried. I was never a crier, but at the time I did it so loud that my painful screams got me into trouble, and then I learned how to shut everything up. How to let the salty water run down my scarred face, mixed with blood and sweat, with dust and pain.  
  
There was a time I was afraid of what waited for me behind the Arena black doors, a time when I shivered and kneeled in front of those doors before the guards could pick me up from the ground and sometimes shot the weird glowing drugs into my neck. I can't remember too well those fights, they weren't completely mine.  
  
There was a time I must have forgot, because this arm wasn't here when I was on Earth. I simply woke up with it. It hurt, it hurt a lot, but was I awake when they attached it to me? When they ripped my flesh and bone away? I can't remember.  
  
I can't remember a lot of things, but I get glimpses of them sometimes. I see bloodstained walls. I hear my voice scream things I don't understand. I hear voices in my brain, calling my name and running down my spine. I feel soft things under my fingers and then the rough, sharp ground of the Arena.  
  
It happens at weird times. It happens when I'm stressed, it happens when I'm relaxed.  
  
It once happened when I was with Keith. My sweet sweet Keith. My only peace, my freedom, my remedy.  
  
In the middle of a kiss, my flesh hand wandering on his naked chest, my body ready to get to the next, wonderful step.  
  
It wasn’t the smooth, hot flesh I was feeling under my palm. It was something else. Something that smelled like danger. Like wrong things smell.  
  
I must have frozen, because my lover reached for me, calling my name and brushing worried fingers through my hair. I answered. I lied. I made love to him, I heard his pleasure and mine, but I wasn't really there.  
  
Just like in the drugged fights.  
  
My brain dragged me away.  
  
Long, sloppy fingers dragged themselves on my ribs.  
  
I blinked: Castle of Lions.  
  
I blinked again, and in that insignificant moment of dark between two glances I felt a too heavy weight on me. Something foreign, something bad. Something I desperately tried to push away, out of my peaceful, unstable safe zone.  
  
Something I let my mind wander on too much in the next days, something that woke me up sweating in the middle of the night, with unspoken words on my wet tongue, with the need of physical touch where I let Keith only hours before.  
  
I knew my brain was breaking, the walls that kept my thoughts together were creaking under some kind of memory my body never put away. And I knew that memory was awfully dangerous.  
  
Those fingers traced wounds, I felt my own blood staining my shirt, but when I looked at my chest it was covered in nothing but scars.  
  
Those fingers tried to run down, to grab my legs, to pin me to the ground, but when I looked at my limbs they were free.  
  
This happened too many times. I started to zone out a lot more than usual, Keith noticing and worrying, fake smiles feeding his need of reassurance. But those fingers were still there, and soon a voice, not a new one because I already heard it in my mind, joined them. It licked my skin with its words, low praises, lower scolding. And in no time I felt pointy teeth sink into my flesh. Blood. Pain. Fear. And most of all, pleasure.  
  
I couldn't bear it anymore. I couldn't live like that, always on the verge of a breakdown, aroused for ghost attentions I couldn't give a face to.  
  
I eventually let the fingers win. I closed my eyes when I knew I should have looked to the light, and a suffocating dark engulfed me.  
  
  
  
  
I opened them to a dimly lighted room, a room that wasn't mine. A room on a spaceship. A Galra spaceship. I should have seen it coming, but I didn't retract from the flashback.  
  
My eyes blinked, I stretched and my muscles tensed, the feelings too authentic to actually feel like a memory.  
  
I reached for my face: a human hand and a hurting, pulsating bionic one came back to my stare covered in tears. I heard myself sobbing. I shivered and collapsed under the panic that filled my mind all of a sudden, confused moments of my fights mixed with the aching images of my safe and previous life, blood and sand covering the sun I started to forget.  
  
It was one of those nights – if nights they even were – when I couldn't sleep, nights between experiments and shows in the Arena.  
  
My very soul ached, the bruises and the scars on my skin burning in agony in rhythm with the screams in my brain. I was a ruined being, a nearly soulless one, the Champion the aliens praised and needed to see.  
  
I was a mess, and I got up to my feet, tears still streaming down my face as I walked through the halls I started to know as well as I used to know the Garrison ones.  
  
I had a Galra tech arm letting me access every place I wanted, every place I was allowed to go into. The one I was headed to was always open to me, in good and in bad times.  
  
I was aware of how I walked the line between safety and danger, between sanity and madness. But I also knew that I needed it. I needed the blinding pain that was coming.  
  
The smoothly polished door whirred open, nothing but black welcoming me. I wasn't afraid of the dark, I wasn't afraid of what lied inside of it. Because I was sure it lied there, I could sense it with my broken mind.  
  
I stepped in, the door silently closing behind my back, and blindly moved ahead until my arm softly glowed, even though I didn't need it to.  
  
I kneeled at the end of the bed, uselessly trying to wipe away the endless stream of salty water coming down my eyes, and I reached out with my flesh hand, a half sigh freeing itself from my lungs when my digits found the softness I was looking for. When they found what humans called fur. I gently grabbed it and pushed my head forward, nuzzling in the strong and acrid scent that was proper of the thick hair that covered the muscle underneath the softness.  
  
The body that owned all of that didn't make a sound.  
  
I liked to play like this, I knew I did. What a twisted game.  
  
I moved forward again, fingers and tongue tracing slow paths on the fur until I got right where I wanted. There, I dug my lips, sucking and laving greedily.  
  
And there it came.  
  
The low, growling sound.  
  
"Champion."  
  
I moaned in response, voice muffled but loud enough to be heard, need clearly draining from it. I kept my mouth busy, the physical reaction I was trying to get growing under my tongue.  
  
He adjusted himself, letting my skills please him until he knew I was getting hard too. Because, shame on me, I really was.  
  
He called again, nothing but another growl, and I obediently crawled on the bed, onto him, hands full of fur and pressing on a human-like chest. I searched for his mouth, I craved a kiss, but his hand closed on my throat and held me in place.  
  
"You're crying again."  
  
I couldn't answer. He wasn't squeezing so hard I could not breathe, but I wanted him to do so. I pressed my neck on that hand, ignoring the tears and digging my fingers in his coat. I needed to make my brain stop working. He was the best choice to do so.  
  
"You want me to fuck you again."  
  
I shivered, grinding on his stomach at that sentence. It wasn’t a question: it was a certainty.  
  
He knew me by then. He knew I needed those nights, I needed the pain he could give me to wipe away the nightmares in my head. He didn't need me though. He simply accepted to fuck me because he liked it in some way and because I was the precious Champion he kind of needed to manage.  
  
He started this, I remembered while his claws dug in the fabric on my thigh, ripping it until they burned on my skin. He started this because I was potential breeding material. A strong, fighting soldier, a tiny human who fought and killed beasts and aliens twice his size with his bare hands. An inferior race which genes would be mixed nicely with his own. He learned fast I couldn't breed. Galras usually mate only to procreate, I knew it because they then showed him how I could not, while recovering me from the mess that my interior became because of the genital hooks he opened for the mating process.  
  
I hated him for what he did to me, I felt the rage for not being able to stop it, I suffered in pain and shame and I took pride in the fact that he got scolded for that. The doctors took care of me, of the Champion, so I could be able to get in the Arena as soon as possible, and he sometimes came to visit. To study and observe.  
  
He couldn't breed me, but I still was a toy to him, even if breaking me was forbidden. He liked to hear me scream, he liked to see me collapse under the experiments and he liked to effortlessly stop my weak assaults. I was so mad at him.  
  
But I was feeling his fingers on me, I was feeling the rush in my breath, I was feeling the burning need in my body, straddled on him. I understood how I needed this, and I hated myself more than him for it.  
  
My ass moved back, silently begging for attention, and he traced it until he reached between my spread cheeks, sinking the sharps nails into the softest of my skin.  
  
"You shouldn't be waking me for this."  
  
I always woke him for that.  
  
"I know."  
  
His claws dug, pain spreading and leaving me breathless, and he sat, letting me grasp on the hair on his chest.  
  
"What do you think you know, pet?"  
  
The vague kindness derived from his waking had already vanished, and I purposely missed his title. I wanted to make him angry at me. I wanted the pain.  
  
"How you like it when I wake you like this."  
  
His teeth closed on the flesh between my shoulder and my neck without any care. A beast; humans would call him that.  
  
"Shut the fuck up."  
  
I knew he liked it. I knew it from the first time I woke him. His fingers moved, fabric already tore apart from my body, and his index and middle finger got inside me. The moan I gave voice to was nothing like the cries of the first time, and I pushed myself back, aching for more. For the pain I asked for.  
  
I knew there were claws scratching my walls, I felt them. I knew before looking down that my blood was painting my chest, dripping from his bite. I didn’t fight when he lifted me only to let me fall hard on my back where he was a moment before, fingers still deep inside me.  
  
“Make me.”  
  
I was challenging him on purpose and my half, resigned and expectant grin fuelled his annoyance, but I could see how he wanted to do just as I said: the lack of an arm didn’t bother him as he lowered his head, growls resounding from his chest and on my stomach, under his wandering tongue tracing already old scars. I gripped the fur just below his ears, forcing his one-eyed gaze in mine and grinning again.  
  
“If you can.”  
  
His fangs almost tore my bottom lip away. His claws sank inside me more than ever.  
  
I didn’t shut up; I screamed. I wanted to.  
  
And he liked it, but he had to make me silent because that was the game.  
  
His hand cruelly pulled out of me and grabbed both my wrists, pinning them down to the mattress, over my head. He ordered me to stay still, and then slowly scratched downward along my body, incising everything on its path.  
  
The idea of rebellion died before I could formulate it: my left nipple burned like hell, and I inhaled my own blood scent, fists full of fabric and back painfully arching; my waist collected a new set of future marks; my erection got locked up in his fist, and the torture began. He learned faster than I did with him how to work on me. How to make me beg.  
  
The strokes weren’t careful, nor eager to satisfy; still, his rough palm excited me, mind full of fresh pain to care about, and I called his name between choked moans, title still missing.  
  
I felt my own pre-cum leaking on my skin and I knew I had to make everything worse. I needed it.  
  
“Fuck me, Sendak.”  
  
His hand opened and my tensed hip fell down on the mattress, shivering from need and excitement.  
  
An order. I dared to order him.  
  
His growl made my hair stand, goosebumps covering my skin as my guts shook, and it lasted until I could feel his breath on my face, hot and - at this point - pleasant.  
  
“Fuck. Me. Sendak.” I repeated, grinning, the dry paths of my tears stretching, and I lifted to kiss his gnarling bare teeth, but I couldn’t reach them.  
  
His hand closed on my throat before I could move, squeezing so tight I felt my lungs burn. But, again, I didn’t fight. My fingers reached for his shoulders, sinking in the thick fur, and my left and human hand wandered down on his arm until I could place it on his own, smiling.  
  
I couldn’t breathe.  
  
“I will kill you” his low rumbling voice let out.  
  
_Yes_ , I thought. _Yes, please, kill me_.  
  
But he didn’t. He opened his grip a bit, enough to permit the tiniest of breathing, and placed himself between my welcoming legs.  
  
“Please”  
  
I was using that little air I got to beg. I gave in so early.  
  
“Are you sorry now?”  
  
I wasn’t, because I craved his rage, and I didn’t answer, pressing my calves on his back until I could feel fur on my inner thighs, until I knew I was placed right. I simply moaned.  
  
“How the hell do you work?”  
  
He was mad and he couldn’t understand me. He couldn’t understand why I asked him for pain when I run from it all the time.  
  
A weak, strangled plea slipped out of my burning throat.  
  
“Please, Commander.”  
  
His dick sank in me. His entire length, base pressed on my ass because I was forcing it there, darted out of its resting recess, and I took it all.  
  
My back arched to enhance the feeling, shameful nasty sounds crushing on the obstruction on my neck, and I pressed closer. His claws pierced and blood stained the fabric under my head, as I trembled and gasped for air I didn’t want to breathe.  
  
I wanted to beg again. I wanted to anger him. I wanted his alien dick to fill me up until my brain would explode. But I couldn’t do anything.  
  
He knew it. And he moved, never pulling out completely and crashing mercilessly inside of me, his thrusts synched with my strangled noises.  
  
He was having mercy on me that night. He didn’t open his hooks, he didn’t actually try to kill me, he simply satisfied my need to get wrecked.  
  
He fucked me like the beast human would define him, I reached my orgasm and came with his fangs nearly tearing flesh off my chest, but I refused to let him go. His hand opened and I reached for it, trying to keep it still. I begged him to kill me, I begged too many times, I begged for whatever I could beg, numbed by pain and afterglow, but he let go of me.  
  
I could feel his weird kind of pre-cum itching on my spread thighs, I could see its glow on his crotch, dick already retracted, and I wanted it to fill me, I wanted it to drip down from my hole and my mouth.  
  
“Enough.”  
  
I didn’t listen. I didn’t obey.  
  
Commanding my limbs to cooperate, I got on all fours and crawled to that glow, parted lips mewling on hair and sucking.  
  
His nails promptly scratched my head, blood run down to meet the rest on my nape, and he forced me to face up.  
  
“I said enough.”  
  
I swallowed and groaned, falling down to the mattress when he let me go. I felt him getting up, I heard him moving to another room, I listened to my heart pumping in vain to replace the blood losses, and then he came back to me, grabbing my hair and forcing me to my feet. I would have liked to stay there, to play with his sharp claws while he was asleep, drawing new scars on my body to meet the old ones to help my sleep.  
  
But he walked to the door, slamming me on it with his hand gripping my scalp, and I could see his real eye glowing in the dark.  
  
“Thanks, Commander.”  
  
I was supposed to say it. I had to. There was nothing else I could do.  
  
The door whirred open behind my back and he pushed me out, smooth black material immediately closed in front of my kneeled self.  
  
I smiled, feeling no tears running down my cheeks, and I gave up, falling on the floor and curling up onto my bloodstained figure.  
  
No horrible scenes were playing in my brain. No phantom pain was aching from my arm. Even the shame for what I just did was still silent.  
  
I remained there, waiting for sleep and for guards to throw me back in my cell, fingers digging in the fresh wounds when some thought didn’t go in the right way - that actually was no way at all.  
  
The next day, the Champion would fight again.  
  
But in that moment, Takashi Shirogane was laying on a Galra spaceship floor, head empty and sore body, grateful for his abductor for wrecking him.  
  
  
  
  
And when I opened my eyes on the Castle of Lions again, I knew I would never see myself in the same way.  
  
I knew I would never make love to Keith in the same way again.  
  
I knew I needed thick purple fur under my fingers, blood draining out my flesh and an alien twice my size pressing on my body.  
  
Because I was a mess.  
  
Because I was the Champion.

**Author's Note:**

> { It was meant to be a badwrong kind of rape Shendak thing. It ended up being a long introspective messed up thing with Shiro coping in the worst way possible with himself and nearly raping Sendak.  
> I can't write properly, kill me, what's wrong with my brain....... }


End file.
